


A Handful of Holy Water

by inunfulfilledglory



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Asexual!Rey, Finn and Rey are best friends, M/M, Past Brainwashing, Past Character Death, Past Torture, Slow Burn, Slow Romance, i'll add more tags as they become necessary, unnecessary amount of Poe's background
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-07
Packaged: 2018-05-11 09:37:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5622622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/inunfulfilledglory/pseuds/inunfulfilledglory
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title comes from the last line of the seventh stanza from the poem "Oranges" by Roisin Kelly, and the chapter title comes from a line in the poem as well. Basically I read it and then foolishly thought, "I should write a fic." Perhaps I have a citrus craving? I'm really sorry, it's 4 am and I have no one to beta this.</p><p>"A vision will come to me<br/>of your exotic land: the sun<br/>you swelled under<br/>the tree you grew from."<br/>- Oranges, Roisin Kelly</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. A Drift of White Blossoms

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from the last line of the seventh stanza from the poem "Oranges" by Roisin Kelly, and the chapter title comes from a line in the poem as well. Basically I read it and then foolishly thought, "I should write a fic." Perhaps I have a citrus craving? I'm really sorry, it's 4 am and I have no one to beta this.
> 
> "A vision will come to me  
> of your exotic land: the sun  
> you swelled under  
> the tree you grew from."  
> \- Oranges, Roisin Kelly

Papa was there before everything in the Galaxy - before the tree was there and before Mom and Father stayed, before the War that Papa said took them away sometimes. He was there when the other Yavin moons sprinkled stardust across the vast blackness of it all, and sometimes would tell stories of how the stars were breathed to life, and I always listened, transfixed by every word that slipped out of his well-versed lips.

"One day," he began as we walked out to the sapling of a tree where Mom and Father were, seated on the thick blanket reserved for these lazy, hot afternoons in the cool grass. "The Sun looked upon its people, and saw many great things. It saw kindness, like when we planted the twig of the tree; compassion, which is a special form of kindness, and love - "

"Like how we love each other?" I inquired, confused by this part of the story. Papa's lips twisted into a warm smile, one that made everything in the Galaxy seem just  _so_ , despite the thick heat that blanketed the jungles. "Not exactly," he replied. "There is a special kind of love, one you aren't old enough to understand just yet. And one day, the Sun looked down and saw that some of its people didn't have this special kind of love. Saddened by this, the Sun gave each of the moons stardust, and told them to sprinkle it across the black of night."

"But why?"

"So that those who were still waiting on their special love could look up at night and feel less alone, Poe."

"But why?"

"Because, my boy," Father said as Papa and I reached the blanket. "There are only so many stars in the Galaxy, and there are only so many stars you can see from this place. So when you look up at the night sky, the special love you're waiting for is probably looking at the same stars as you."

Pushing frizzy dark curls away from my forehead, Mom just smiled and added, "One day you'll understand, Poe."

A few hours later, we were in the starfighter reciting take-off sequences together, and by the time night came around, I thought nothing of the stars, love, or how hair sticks to my forehead in the heat of the afternoon.

* * *

It was spring when we buried her.

"Kes," Papa said wearily, placing a hand on Father's shoulder as if to replace the rest of the words that wouldn't unstick themselves from his throat. We sprinkled white orange blossoms over the fresh earth of her grave. Father's head fell forward slightly, but only for a moment before he dragged it back up like it weighed more than all the moons put together; his expression was blank, but his eyes were red-rimmed and raw. He ran his fingers through his thick, black hair to push it off of his forehead where it was beginning to stick to the perspiration. It was an unusually warm spring, even for Yavin 4, according to Father.

I did not think to push my hair off of my forehead, and for the first time in my life, I was acutely aware of how it stuck to my skin in the heat of the afternoon, but I did not say a single word about it.

Despite the heat of that spring, the orange blossoms fell like snow; when night came around, I recited take-off sequences in my head so I wouldn't want me to forget anything she had taught me. When I saw Father and Papa sitting out beside the tree - it had grown a bit, but not much - looking up at the sky, I craned my head back as far as it would go while still being able to see out my window. Mom never told me much of what she did while she was up flying around the stars with Father, but she did tell me she knew several of them by sight alone. Maybe that's why Father and Papa were out there, staring at stars.

Tiny points of light, suspended above us all like a galactic drift of white blossoms.

* * *

He pulls out of my head suddenly, leaving me to fall back against the restraints with a slump and exhaustion slowly spreading over me. Even with the _I'm trying too hard please take me seriously_  get-up, I read Kylo Ren's confusion: layers and layers of old memories, but still no location of the map. After the beatings, after the negotiating, the screaming, the  _burning_ \- oh my god, the burning, the electrocution - and now this, him probing inside my mind, fingers forcefully digging through things that don't belong to him.

"I'm impressed," he says, voice distorted by the helmet.

He should be. I haven't even been in the room with him for fifteen minutes and I'm already feeling the urge to ask him if it gets hot under that thing, or if he has a summer wardrobe that's a slightly off-shade of black, y'know, for a splash of color when he's feeling sexy. But hey, I'm not saying any of that because I'm trying to be the epitome of a polite prisoner of war.

"The Resistance will not be intimidated - "

A pressure finds its way across my forehead, slipping and caressing around until the tendrils join back together at the base of my skull, squeezing and pressing and prodding to find a way in. Suck in a deep breath and exhale in short, choking gasps as I feel it slither down to my throat and neck, creating just enough pressure to make the automatic responses of my lizard brain kick in. I try to jerk away, sucking in air as I painfully punch it out of my gut; feels like the pressure caves in around my eyes and ears, tearing its way through pink, grey, white matter as it frantically searches. Hot tears spill down my cheeks, frame my nose and the mucus leaking from my nostrils, head throbbing and sticky with coagulating blood from when they dug something into the side of my temple, I only screamed once and - _this is how I die,_ I realize, _this is how it's going to end, with my head caved in and BB-8 waiting forever on Jakku and -_

Then, it latches on to something, latches on to BB-8.

A cry tears from my throat as I start throwing more memories up, trying to give Kylo Ren more layers to work and sift through. If he finds BB-8, it's over, it's all over and I'll have failed. But now that he senses my fear, he shreds through those memories: my first flight as a New Republic Commander, the first flight with BB-8, the time I was so nervous during my first mission that I had to recite the take-off sequences out loud like my mother had taught me so I wouldn't forget anything, the vast loneliness that crippled me in the middle of the night, the stars of systems that I knew like the back of my hand thanks to all those flights with BB-8 -

Fuck, no, no, _NO_ , he's latched onto it again, this time harder and I can feel him starting to pull it out of me. A louder cry rips itself out of me; every muscle in my body is taught, my lungs are screaming for air and my head feels five seconds away from caving in, but if that's what happens it's what happens because he can't know _hecan'tknowhecan'tknowhecan'tknow -_

The memory is plucked away from my head like an orange blossom from a tree, and there's absolutely nothing I can do about it.

Kylo Ren's presence from my mind disappears altogether, and this time every ounce of strength drains from my body as I fall back against the chair, my head hanging so that my chin is pressed to my heaving chest; eyes fall shut as I hear the cell door open and close as unconsciousness swims up to drag me under.

* * *

"Ren wants the prisoner,"

Babysitter Stormtrooper nods to New Stormtrooper, and together they undo my restraints, and New Stormtrooper grasps my elbow firmly, leading me out of the cell and down a series of corridors, blaster nudged uncomfortably into my side. They got the information they were looking for out of me, and now they're probably going to kill me. It makes sense, honestly, to get rid of me rather than have me take up such prime vacation real estate.

"Turn here," New Stormtrooper orders suddenly, shoving me into a small side hall. The things he starts saying are so unbelievable that I can't help but stare in slight confusion, and when he takes off his helmet, I'm immediately thrown off by the sincerity and slight panic in his black eyes. "Are you with the Resistance?" I ask. Did BB-8 know I had been captured by the First Order? How did someone know how to find me, and most importantly, how did someone even manage to get aboard a ship like the  _Finalizer_?

"No, but I can get you out of here." he replies. "Can you fly a TIE fighter?"

"I can fly anything. Why are you helping me?"

He seems to pause for a beat, trying to figure out exactly what answer to give before he says, "Because it's the right thing to do."

For the first time in ages, I nearly laugh. The nerves, the slight panic, the fact that he can't stop looking to his side like we're about to be caught? No, he's definitely not lying about not being associated with the Resistance, but he's also definitely not telling the truth about helping out a prisoner because his morals are just  _stellar_. This guy wants out, this guy needs a way out, and he knew that the Resistance's best pilot was aboard the ship, so now he's breaking me out so he has a way of getting out of this shithole.

If it means I'm getting out of here, I can respect that reason.

"You need a pilot,"

"I need a pilot."


	2. With the First One I Pick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I know I won't be happy  
> with the first one I pick,  
> but will try different ones  
> until I know you. How  
> will I know you?"  
> \- Oranges, Roisin Kelly
> 
> Come say hey on Tumblr (in-all-my-glory)

Logically I should be much more worried about the Stormtrooper that has a blaster barely touching my side, leading me out to the port where, oh, I dunno,  _hundreds of other Stormtroopers and other First Order members are_ so we can  _steal a fucking TIE fighter and make some daring escape_. I mean, this guy isn't Resistance, and while he seems sincere enough about his desire to get out of this place, that doesn't mean this isn't leading a lamb to slaughter by some form or another.

However, I am going to fly a freaking TIE fighter. The twin ion engines producing that unmistakable roaring that always comes long before you actually see the craft, the lack of shields that always give just an extra edge of adrenaline in a dogfight, the well-known speed and the way the controls just seem to  _move_ with the pilot... I've never flown one, but I've always wanted to. And now, I get to.

As long as I don't get blown to pieces before I make it back to Jakku, if the  _Finalizer_ is still close enough to the planet that I can make it there without being blown to pieces across this small patch of space. TIE fighters are great for recon missions, they're great for patrolling, dogfighting, and in some cases neutralizing small(er) messes. But TIEs don't have a hyperdrive which means that big distances? Yeah, those are completely out of the question. In a sense, I - we - _have_ to go back to Jakku because if we don't get there or to a nearby neighboring planet or moon, the other TIEs and whatever else the First Order will send out to shoot us down will accomplish that mission. I mean, I'm a pretty damn good pilot, but skill does not always equate to luck, and sometimes - despite what may be said - you need a little luck.

"Okay, stay calm, stay calm..." I hear the Stormtrooper muttering behind me, possibly in a half-assed attempt to soothe any pre-hijack-a-TIE nerves I may possess. Which is thoughtful, perhaps, but did he miss the part where I was tortured by half of the Order and then have Kylo Ren dig around in my brain for about five minutes? Because  _that_ was when I could've used a little pep talk. Torture and interrogation are definitely out of my comfort zone, but this? This I can definitely handle.

"I  _am_ calm," I reply softly, keeping my voice low enough that only he can hear me as a few Stormtroopers pass us, boots clicking on the shiny floor.

"I was talking to myself." he retorts, voice wavering just enough to give away his slight embarrassment.

Okay, so maybe deciding to run away with the first guy I pick wasn't the best idea I've had in a while.

* * *

Slide into the cockpit and shrug off my jacket as my favorite Storm Deserter slides into the back to handle our defense, and  _man_ , this would be even cooler if we weren't pressed for time. "I've always wanted to fly one of these things," I remark aloud, analyzing the controls for a moment. Despite the different types of air and spacecraft, they all tend to have a very similar or intuitive start-up sequencing if you know what you're doing for the most part, and thankfully, I do. The cockpit of this particular craft is a little tight, not much room for any real body movement aside from getting in and out, but then again that does make everything I need within arm's reach.

"Do you know how to shoot?" I call over my shoulder, flipping switches and starting up the engines. Once they turn on, the noise is going to put a lot of attention on us, so it really is all or nothing.

"I know how to shoot blasters,"

"This is similar," I give him a quick rundown of how it works - simple enough, really - before taking one last deep breath and punching the thrusters. The craft responds immediately (incredible), but we're only in motion for half of a second before we're suddenly jerked back. Frantically search for the issue, and see that we're still attached to the port, and now everyone is looking at us. Including mission control, which definitely knows this flight is unauthorized.

Great.

And now, they're all pulling out weapons and firing at us.

Even better.

"I can fix this!" I yell, spinning the craft around two hundred and seventy degrees and using one of our wings as a temporary cover. The wings on the newer models are much sturdier than they were on the previous ones, but even still, the probability of wing damage goes up with every shot it takes.

Vaguely, I register that Best Friend Stormy is firing; it's a little haphazard, obvious that he's still getting the hang of how it all works together, but there's still an overall good defensive attack going on. He's got a great eye, and the shots he's not hitting dead on are probably due to his - our - interesting position. But even with his attacks, I know the wing is risking greater and greater damage with every single second that slips by, and for some  _appalling_ reason, I can _not_ figure out how to detach us. I keep trying everything that I know to do; disengaging, reengaging, killing thrust, giving  _more_ thrust in hopes maybe it'll just break off...

Panic begins rising in the back of my throat, clawing up my esophagus. Stare at the controls for a second, helpless and failing, turning and switching and pushing in futile attempts until I finally close my eyes and just shut it all out for a moment, just a moment -

She taught me what to do in these situations, she showed me how to breathe through it even though I was only eight years old. "If you panic, Poe, that will only hurt your situation. Take a deep breath and think."

A loud, thundering explosion pulls me out of that moment, and I immediately look up to my left and see the exact switch I'm looking for. "I got it."

We zoom off again, but I happen to catch a glimpse of the giant, gaping hole where the mission control used to be. A smile pulls at the corners of my mouth as I weave between missiles and offensive measures coming at us, Sharp Shooter still manning my six.

Okay, so maybe my first pick wasn't the best idea I've had in a while, but he definitely isn't the worst. Not by a long shot.

* * *

"What's your name?"

"FN-2187."

"What?"

"It's the only name they ever gave me," he explains.

The only name they ever gave him was a serial number, a way of keeping track of his every move easier on whoever was in charge. There's something oddly sickening to me about this knowledge, knowing that the only thing he's ever identified as is a number assigned to him against his will; a loss of humanity, somehow, a loss of freedom. "Well I ain't using it," I quip back, still stupidly grinning over the fact that we actually made it. "FN, huh? Finn, how about I call you Finn. Is that alright with you?"

"Finn," I hear him try it out on his own for the first time, can visualize how he's seeing how it feels on his tongue. "Yeah, Finn."

"I'm Poe, Poe Dameron," I've now known Finn for a little less than an hour, yet this is the first time we're introducing ourselves, and somehow it feels completely and totally natural.

"Nice to meet you, Poe." Finn says, and I can hear the smile in his voice.

"Nice to meet you too, Finn."

The sentence barely has time to leave my lips before I hear Finn firing at the missiles up ahead. I'd lined him up for a pretty clear shot, and he takes it beautifully.  _Nice shot,_ I think to myself, registering that it may have actually been said out loud.

"DID YOU SEE THAT?!" he shouts, proud. "DID YOU SEE THAT?"

His enthusiasm is contagious, and the smile on my face grows even more. "I saw it," I grin back.

* * *

I'm in the middle of explaining what BB-8 looks like to Finn before our luck runs out, and we take a devastating hit. Finn's still yelling at me, angry about us going back to Jakku, but it soon dies out when even he realizes we're going to crash. We're going to crash and it's not going to be good at _all_.

For a split second, I think about my dad and my mom; BB-8 is next, and something in the pit of my stomach curls in at the thought of them wandering this desert planet forever, waiting for me to fulfill my promise and come back for them. They're safer here than they are anywhere else, and I trust BB-8 to never show that map to anyone other than General Organa herself. But still, forever alone? No one deserves that, not even a white and orange droid. I try to pull up on the controls, try to figure out how to soften this landing in any way possible, but with the amount of damage that wing sustained (and by "damage" I mean the entire wing is nearly gone), there's just no way.

My finger rests on the eject button, ready to press at any moment. There's no guarantee that Finn and I will land anywhere near each other, not with how out of control this TIE fighter is, but maybe... I'm sure I'll find him again, regardless. Maybe that's wishful thinking, but sometimes - despite what may be said - you need to make a few wishes.

Maybe he'll wanna grab a drink after this, when it's all said and done. Hell, I'll even buy it for him; we're both going to  _need_ a drink after this, anyway, and he seems like a cool guy. I get us as good as we're gonna get, and press the button.  _Safe landing, buddy_ , I think to myself moments before feeling the immense tug and pull from the force of the ejection at such a bad altitude and angle.

* * *

I wake up with a jolt, gasping for breath and wincing at the pain that squeezes around my ribcage as I do so. The still-blowing parachute gently laps over my face when a cold gust of wind rolls over the sand dunes (must be night, how long was I out?). Turning my head to the left I see that I'm half in my ejected seat and half out due to not actually buckling myself in whenever I first got into the cockpit all those hours(?) ago. The ejection must've gone pretty well, but I was probably thrown out a little bit before landing and managed to not fall to my death due to the left arm that's wrapped up in the seat belt.

Another cold gust leaves me shivering - my jacket must've stayed inside the fighter when it went down - and I do my best to reach up and pull the parachute over me as a makeshift blanket. My ribs ache in protest, an electric shock licking and curling between each one with every small movement I make; the arm that's wrapped up screams in pain badly enough that a groan slips between my set jaw. A dislocated shoulder isn't entirely out of the question now. Sand sinks and shifts around me with every minute move, determined to keep me cold and uncomfortable as long as I lie here. My head's pounding, my eyes feel like sandpaper, but hopefully I can get up at dawn and make my way towards an outpost or town.

Where's Finn, though?

* * *

 

They find me in the morning, just a few hours after dawn. The sun is already sweltering, determined to slowly melt everything its light touches and caresses during these hours. My mouth is dry, tongue scraping across the back of my teeth and the top of my mouth and soft palate. My left shoulder is definitely dislocated, ribs are at the very least cracked or bruised, and my head hasn't stopped throbbing since I first groggily awoke in the middle of the night, alone, on Jakku.

Young, new Resistance pilots with familiar faces but unknown names searching for me, amazed to see me wandering around.

They keep asking me questions, but my throat's too dry to properly respond. Even after several drinks of fresh, cool water, the answers still seem all jumbled, and eventually they give up and set course back for the Ileenium system. Everything seems fuzzy and slow, even when we're at light speed, and I can't help but ask them several times if they've found Finn yet, too.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I don't know how to write stuff if it's not well after midnight and have no one to beta. Although I will admit that, for the time being, I'm just sort of... running with an idea?

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first work on this site, first work in the Star Wars fandom, and my first overall work in a few years. I'm probably out of practice and the swing of things, but I'll try to do better. I will also be adding/deleting tags and/or characters as it becomes necessary. I'm just playing with an idea of really focusing on Poe and Finn's characters and the evolution of their relationship.
> 
> The rating may change due to future chapters, but we'll cross that bridge when we get there.


End file.
